The first time we really talked,
I said I wasn’t a romantic.
Why? I’m still unsure.
But you had the same idea, and
you chuckled and said you were
that romance made you come undone,
that you felt so excited by us as a possibility
you could write poetry!
As if that would be some amazing feat.

Without realizing we were both frauds,

sweet nothings became somethings,
and your eyes, like chocolate, melted your sould into mine.
Your sugary tongue fused together our honey-like lies.

It wasnt until the winter froze the grained cane in my veins that my sugar rush has ended.
 

I wish I hadn’t realized it was too sweet to be.